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Thursday, February 14, 2013

Valentine's Day: Post-mortem

Before I went to bed on February 13th I picked
out an outfit. When I woke up in the morning it would be Valentine’s Day and I
wanted to feel pretty- instead of the unlovable can of slop I had been feeling
like for the past few weeks. I knew that I would be walking into an office full
of “Surprise” flower deliveries and chocolate explosions and overly perky women
in snuggly red sweaters. I needed armor.

By 9am I had the first run in my pantyhose and by 1030 I had
managed to completely mutilate them with the zipper from my left boot. It was
very punk rock but not quite business casual. Bye-bye “I feel pretty” skirt,
hello jeans that probably should have been washed yesterday. Great, there goes
my self-empowerment Valentine’s Day.

But, as I was sitting on the toilet MacGyvering my
stockings into socks, I remembered something; I don’t care about Valentine’s
Day.

I’ve been reeling from the death knell of the most important
relationship of my adult life (so far, fingers crossed) and everything got
twisted in my head. The thought of my ex with his new girl on this oh so
hallowed of Hallmark holidays so soon after learning that we were never, ever,
ever getting back together made me feel like I was going to fall apart because
I was alone and unloved. (Cue any
song Morrissey has ever written but Unlovable would be most appropriate) But that’s
not who I am, or, more importantly, not who I want to be.

Valentine’s Day serves 1 of 2 purposes it’s either an excuse
for you to make someone feel special or an excuse to feel bad about yourself.
Neither one is necessary.

If you’re in a relationship with an other, significant or
otherwise, who makes you feel special every Thursday and not just those
Thursdays that fall in the middle of February then you know that you are loved
and cherished and supported and wanted and appreciated and although “make your
co-workers jealous” bouquets and fancy dinners are nice, you don’t need them.

If you’re not in a relationship and there isn’t someone who
wants to make you feel special in the ooey-gooey romantic ways then beating
yourself over the head with self loathing and romantic comedies and boxes of
chocolate large enough to give yourself diabetes in one sitting isn’t going to
do you, or anyone else in your life, any good.

This is something I used to know. Something I used to laugh
about. But here I was, caring
about something that I don’t care about, fretting about something that wasn’t
important to me, being someone that I’m not. I think I’ve had enough of that.

Today is just another Thursday and next year it will be just
another Friday. Maybe next year I’ll
have a Valentine, maybe I won’t. Either way I am just as lovable on February 14th
as I am on the 15th. And
Hallmark can just go to hell.